


Ice. Ice. Baby.

by im2old4thisotp



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 12 Days of Sterek, Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 12:39:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17141924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im2old4thisotp/pseuds/im2old4thisotp
Summary: Stiles works at Hale Ice Rink for his last winter break. He hates it--until a certain customer comes along.





	Ice. Ice. Baby.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to literaryoblivion for organizing the 12 Days of Sterek again! Thanks also for the prompt list, which brought me out of my writer's slump. I could not. make. words. for the last several months! But as always, these two bring me back into it again. I hope you all like it!

 

The tinkling opening notes of _All I Want for Christmas Is You_ began over the loudspeaker, and Stiles wanted to either bash his head into the counter in front of him, or gouge out his eardrums with the pen lying next to his hand. Since neither of those options were very appealing, nor would they help him finish his research, he decided on the safe option three: _attempt_ to ignore the overplayed pop hit and hope that the next song was something not as insanely irritating, like some She+Him. He didn’t _mind_ Christmas music, really. But when you worked in a place like he did, and Christmas music was on a continuous loop, you got really sick of the Top 40. Put Mariah in a bucket with _Wonderful Christmastime_ and _I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas_ , and sink them to the bottom of the Pacific. Not too much to ask, right?

His mental work on The List of Acceptable Christmas Songs was interrupted by a cheery couple and two matching kids, staring expectantly over the counter at him.

”Two adults and two kids, please,” the woman said.

“Do you need skate rentals?” Stiles asked. At the woman’s nod, he calculated quickly and said, “That’ll be forty-eight dollars.”

The lady across from him raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I know it’s steep. But hey—you’re ice skating in 55-degree weather. If you close your eyes it’s almost like you’re in Rockefeller Square.” The lady rolled her eyes at him, but dug in her purse anyway. Stiles took her pile of bills, tore off four tickets and handed them across the counter. He heard her muttering under her breath at him, but he held his tongue.

They all complained about the price. But Hale’s Ice Rink was the only ice skating experience within a hundred mile radius, so if these people wanted their “magical winter experience,” they’d have to fork over the cash.

Stiles had never actually met the owner of Hale’s Ice Rink, Peter Hale, having done his interview online, and his training with Erica Reyes, his coworker, but he was famous around town, snatching up empty properties around the state and turning them into seasonal attractions. Pumpkin “patches” in hay-covered dirt lots, Christmas tree “farms” in spaces under county power lines, ice skating rinks in shopping mall parking lots. Hale did the most to capitalize on the wistful memories of the East Coast-to-West Coast transplants that lived around here.

Not that it made Stiles’ job any easier. He was the one who had to deal with the customers’ frustrations when they forked out the high-dollar cost for a few turns around the rink.

He hated this job. Well, _hate_ was a strong word. But he could think of about a thousand other things he would rather be doing right about now.

First of all, it was cold. His friends at school in Washington, DC had made fun of him every year for complaining about the cold all the time, but hey—he was a Californian, and anything sub-seventy degrees made him break out the flannels and scarves. Well, just the scarves—the flannels were pretty much a year-round wardrobe for him. He was skinny, alright! It was hard to stay warm when he had pale skin and fragile bones! There was a space heater to put under the counter in his ticket booth, but it was as ancient as his Jeep, and only worked to barely stave off the cold. Thankfully, California winters weren’t nearly as bad as DC winters, and this was the last one he had to endure before graduation.

Then there were the customers. Any kind of customer service job around the holidays was nightmarish to begin with, but he was usually dealing with parents who had their kids amped up on sugar and out-of-control from the lack of structure that came from school. Most parents wanted a way for their kids to get some kind of exercise, not realizing that a 7-year-old who falls 422 times in an hour on the ice is just a whining, crying mess, and not so much into the magic of the season. After spending another small fortune with Erica at the hot chocolate booth across from Stiles’ ticket booth, the families took their pictures for Instagram and left almost as quickly as they came, usually not sparing their looks of loathing to where Stiles sat—no matter that he had nothing to do with the prices _or_ with their decision to bring kids to a broken-arm-waiting-to-happen kind of establishment.

Finally, the worst part was the fact that he had to have a job in the first place. He’d love to be like Lydia, jet-setting off to the Maldives (or was it Belize this time?) every year for Christmas on her Dad’s dime. But then Stiles would also have to deal with the familial emotional detachment that she dealt with, and he'd take quality time with his dad over that mess any day. Tuition wasn’t cheap, and living in DC was even worse, so he had spent his semesters working at the local late-night coffee shop, and his school breaks in various odd jobs around his hometown—this winter, it was the ice rink. The fact that the Sheriff’s department _still_ wouldn’t take him on because of some nonsense about working in the same department as his old man was a point of contention. It was fine. He was graduating in the spring with minimal debt, so this would be his last crappy odd job for the foreseeable future.

There were a few good parts to his job. The first was Erica, the other nightly employee. She worked the hot chocolate booth, and was as snarky as he was. If Peter had any idea how they nightly plotted their revenge on him for their poor conditions, he would surely fire them both, but he never appeared, only kept tabs when they clocked in and out, and checked in via phone call once a week. Erica was wicked funny and kept Stiles in stitches when they weren’t busy. He loved the shit out of her.

Another good part about the job was that Peter was never around, so Stiles could work on his Criminology paper during the rink’s down time. Why his professor would schedule a 20-page paper due right after a winter break was beyond him—something about “staying fresh” and “not losing what you’ve learned after three weeks off.” Which, of course, was horseshit. Winter breaks were for going to the movies and having all-night Super Smash Brothers tournaments with your best friend, not for studying the complexities of human psychology as it relates to criminal and antisocial behaviors. Though it was incredibly fascinating and he didn’t mind learning about it, it still wasn’t Super Smash Brothers.

Stiles also took endless pleasure from watching people who had no clue how to skate do their absolute best to attempt it. His favorite people to watch were the macho guys who brought their girlfriends in an attempt to be romantic on the ice, only to spend most of the time glued to the sideboards. Jackson Whittemore was a prime example of this. He strutted up to the ticket booth like he owned it (what else was new—apparently not everyone changed after high school), threatened to skate his blades over Stiles’ face, and then promptly bit it five yards past the gate. Stiles had to duck behind the counter, he laughed so hard over that one. Ice was the great equalizer.  Most couples ended up curled around two cups of hot chocolate and making out on the benches right across from his ticket booth anyway, and Stiles didn’t much like hearing the customers’ slurpy sounds while he was reading psychopathy theories (mostly because he wished he were making out with someone, too).

Sadly, his classes had kept him too busy at school to pursue any kind of relationship, and no one in Beacon Hills seemed to be available anymore. On his first day at the rink he had kind of hoped for Erica, but then her boyfriend Boyd had shown up after work, looking like the kind of guy who could rearrange your face with one hand tied behind his back, so Erica went on the “strictly off limits” list. Boyd turned out to be a complete teddy bear that Erica was head-over-heels in love with, and Stiles wondered yet again if he’d ever find someone that would look at him the way Boyd looked at Erica.

Tonight was unusually slow at the outdoor rink. The combination of a big football game plus the colder-than-usual night temperatures meant there were only a handful of skaters. Even less for Stiles to do, which was great—he was making good headway on his paper. He might even finish it in the next couple of days, leaving _plenty_ of time for Smash Brothers with Scott. _Yes, please._

Stiles was in the middle of a particularly compelling paragraph on John Wayne Gacy when he heard a rush of loud kids parade past his booth. He tried not to roll his eyes as he waited for the harried parents to buy the tickets for the rowdy bunch.

“Hey!” the man in front of him hollered. “Don’t kill anyone while I get the tickets!” Stiles sensed the man’s attention turning toward him, and he rushed to finish the paragraph. “One adult and four children, please. No skates.”

Stiles didn’t even look up from his textbook to address the man. “I’m sorry, sir, but Hale’s Ice has a policy of no more than two kids per...”

Stiles looked up and suddenly forgot how to breathe. The man standing in front of him was every fantasy that Stiles had ever had, come to life in full Technicolor. He had on a dark coat, a red scarf visible around his neck scruff, a pair of skates tied together and thrown over his shoulder. But Stiles was locked onto his eyes, on the color that he’d never figure out a name for, the mixture of green and gray and brown too beautiful to be named by a word as ugly as _hazel_. Framing the eyes were two of the most glorious eyebrows Stiles had ever seen, and just above those was a green knitted beanie with a pom pom on top, and Stiles had to literally cover his mouth to keep from laughing out loud when he saw that the pattern around the hat wasn’t just a pattern, but actually pairs of humping reindeer.

Gorgeous, brooding, _and_ willing to wear kitchy outerwear in public? Eyebrows was literally all of Stiles’ wet dreams come true, and they were meant to spend forever and ever together, he just knew it.

Stiles’ rapidly expanding mental fantasy immediately sunk when he remembered that the man had asked for four children’s tickets, which must mean that he had kids with him. _Of course._ Just Stiles’ luck to finally find the literal man of his dreams and have him be taken. Fuck his life, man. He wanted Eyebrows to be his _daddy_ , but instead he was the dad. To _four kids._ Whoever had managed to land this guy was a lucky bitch. Stiles hated that person on principle, of course. They didn’t deserve Eyebrows. They certainly couldn’t make him as happy as Stiles could, he was sure of it.

Eyebrows, who was now pulling the hat off of his head and twisting it in his hands (his thick, hairy, manly, god what could he do with those hands? hands— _stop it, Stiles)_. He cleared his throat. “You’re the new guy Peter mentioned.”

“Yep.” Stiles tried not to stare again, but Eyebrows was making it almost impossible—his hair was adorably mussed from the hat, sticking up in a million directions, and it was the perfect length for Stiles to run his fingers through, or hold on to nice and tight—

“Well, my uncle makes an exception for us since he owns this place.”

Stiles blinked at his interrupted thoughts, and then after a moment fully processed what the man had said. “You’re a Hale?”

The man nodded. “One of many.”

 _Shit_ . Stiles tried to reboot his brain. He couldn’t make an ass out of himself in front of someone this hot, especially since it was Peter’s _nephew_. He quickly grabbed his papers and open textbooks off the counter and tried to shove them under the countertop which, in typical Stiles fashion, took flight and scattered all over the floor of the tiny booth in which he was working. Stiles grimaced, and stole a glance up at Eyebrows, who was looking at him with a look of fond amusement. Well, at least the guy wasn’t running away, or pissed off enough to call his uncle and get Stiles’ spastic, studying-instead-of-working ass fired.

Stiles finished tearing off the tickets and handed the across the counter, trying to will away the redness he could feel in his cheeks. “So, I’m guessing you get in for free, as well.”

Eyebrows huffed a laugh. “You’ve never met Peter before, have you?”

“Haven’t had the pleasure.”

“You wouldn’t call it that if you ever met him. He wouldn’t be Peter if he wasn’t taking everyone for money, including his family.”

The laughter burst out of Stiles before he could stop it, and he felt a great sense of relief when Eyebrows grinned, too. “I’ll keep that in mind. So, one adult, four kids. That’ll be forty-five bucks.”

Eyebrows reached into his back pocket to grab a wallet, and as he handed over the bills, there was a loud commotion off to the side, near the skate rental booth.

Eyebrows looked over and sighed at what he saw. “Duty calls.”

Stiles followed his gaze and saw the four kids—three boys and a girl—arms and legs interlocked in struggle, yelling and grunting and attempting to spear each other with skate blades. Stiles had a quick flash of memory of himself doing that same thing to Scott when they were kids. He smiled and quickly handed Eyebrows his tickets. “Good luck.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Eyebrows stepped away from the booth, and Stiles watched him tug the humping reindeer hat back on his head. Stiles found his eyes drifting a bit (oh _damn_ he had a fine ass, too? Why was the universe determined to make all the taken men so perfect?) when Eyebrows suddenly turned back towards the ticket booth.

“I’m Derek, by the way.” Stiles fell in love all over again with the shy smile that he was seeing. Damn it.

“Stiles. Nice to meet you, Derek.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” Derek nodded at the booth. “Good luck with your paper.”

Stiles flushed as Derek walked over to the tangle of kids’ limbs, smacking them playfully on their hats with the tickets and pulling them apart.

Stiles slumped back into his seat and rested his chin in his hands. He probably looked like a lovestruck puppy right now, but he couldn’t help it. He took a moment to get himself together before ducking down in the booth and collecting the mess of papers. At least he knew that Derek wasn’t going to be turning him in for studying on the job.

His work finally righted on the counter, Stiles stole repeated glances at the ice. Hey, if Peter didn’t want him watching people skate, then he should face the ticket counter away from the ice—something Stiles would never actually mention to the guy, since it would surely result in his loss of entertainment. If his booth was turned around, he wouldn’t be able to watch Derek Hale skate. And Stiles sure as hell wanted to see him skate.

As Stiles watched, he had to admit: he was impressed. I mean, he wasn’t Nathan Chen levels of awesome (but then again, who _was?)_ , but he was definitely holding his own. He could skate forward pretty well, made decently smooth turns, and even skated backwards at one point (towards Stiles’ ticket booth, which was amazing because he was able to get an eyeful of Derek’s back side—and _backside_ —and what a beautiful side _that_ was, truly). Derek did have some stumbles, and at one point he careened into the wall so hard that Stiles grimaced in pain _for_ him. But it wasn’t as bad as many of the epically bad outings Stiles had seen here. Especially since the four monsters he had with him seemed determined to bring him down to the ice as much as possible.

And boy, they were _monsters_. They were all scarily good on the ice, and were weaving and dodging around the other skaters, yelling and running into each other, and generally acting like wild animals finally freed from the zoo. Stiles was close to using the installed PA system to yell at the kids—maybe even ask them to leave if it got any worse—but the fact that they were Peter’s relatives stopped him—not to mention that he’d be asking Derek to leave by proxy, and Stiles didn’t want that at all.

Thankfully, because it was a slow night, none of the other ice patrons seemed to be *too* bothered by the raucous behavior. Most of the families here seemed to be in the get-the-kids-out-of-the-house variety, so they wouldn’t be leaving unless there was blood involved.

Every lap or two, Stiles would catch Derek’s eye. At first, Stiles would look away, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment at being caught watching. But after a few laps, he was so taken with the shy smiles and silly faces that Derek started throwing back at him, that his paper was completely forgotten.

Damn, it really sucked that Derek was taken. He was the first person in a long time that actually piqued Stiles’ interest more than the latest serial killer podcast.

A small alarm sounded on Stiles’ hip, and he pulled out his phone to see his nightly reminder to clean the ice. He groaned inwardly, but was again grateful to the small crowd—there weren’t as many there to hiss and complain at him for making them leave the ice for a few minutes. He was tempted to skip it tonight altogether, since the damage to the ice would be minimal anyway, but he didn’t want it to get back to the big boss. Peter was particular about how the ice was handled—he had to be, with a rink in California. He made the cleaning announcement over the intercom, ignoring the handful of complaints he heard.

He pulled on his skates, tightened the laces, and put up the “Back in 10” sign on the counter. He buttoned up his heavy coat and pulled on his furry hat and gloves before heading out the small door on the side of the building where the broom, shovel, and small ice resurfacer rested. He was pleasantly surprised when he looked up to find the ice already empty. He wouldn’t have to chase anyone off tonight with the broom, which would be a nice change. It was always 50/50 on whether or not he could manage the ice cleaning without landing on his ass. With Derek present, the odds leaned heavily on the wiping-out end of the scale, since Stiles could already feel his pulse racing as he imagined himself sprawled across the ice in front of Derek.

“Hey, Stiles. Want some help with that?”

Stiles flailed a little, dropping the broom at his feet, but managing (thankfully) to not go sprawling on the floor after it.

He managed a choked off laugh, and picked up the broom from the floor. “Oh, it’s alright. You don’t have to help.”

“No, really,” Derek insisted, gently taking the broom from Stiles’ hands. “I used to have to do this all the time, so if we work together, it will go faster.”

Stiles smiled a small smile and gathered up the spare broom that was leaning against the back of the ticket booth. “Well, okay. Thanks.”

“Plus,” Derek added. “I think my nephews and niece will manage to burn down the hot chocolate booth if I leave them alone for _too_ long.”

Derek continued toward the gate at the edge of the ice, but Stiles was frozen in place.

 _Nephews and niece?_ _So, they aren’t your kids._

Stiles heard Derek laugh, and he realized, with embarrassment, that he had said those words out loud.

“No, they aren’t mine. Thank _God._ They’re my sisters’ kids. Separately, they’re a handful, but together—”

“—they’re a nuclear explosion waiting to happen?” Stiles finished.

Derek grinned. “So you noticed?”

Stiles finally started walking again, noticing that Derek held the rink gate open for him to walk past. “Yeah, they seem a little...energetic.”

Derek let out a burst of laughter. “That’s a really tactful way of putting it. My sisters went shopping together, and I got the... _honor_ of watching all of them. We were home for about 10 minutes before I had to get them out of the house or they’d destroy it.”

The rink was small, and Derek fell into step next to Stiles, the two of them sweeping the kicked-up ice and snow in small piles to the side. When the ice shavings were cleared, Derek helped Stiles wrangle the ice resurfacer into the rink, and he skated next to Stiles as he moved in wide arcs around the ice, leaving a smooth path in their wake.

“So, do you have any kids?” Stiles could’ve punched himself in the face for the question. There were infinitely more subtle questions he could’ve asked, but nope. Stiles wasn’t subtle or smooth in any reality.

Thankfully, it didn’t seem that Derek minded too much. “Nah. Maybe someday...with the right person.”

The last part was said so quietly, Stiles almost missed it over the sound of the broom on the ice. But when he realized that it might mean Derek was available, Stiles’ heart leapt in his chest. His voice was a bit strangled when he tried to fill the blank air. “Cool! Cool cool cool cool.”

Derek looked over at him. “Brooklyn Nine-Nine?”

Stiles’ mouth dropped. “Oh my god, you _know_ Brooklyn Nine-Nine?”

Derek adopted his best Jake Peralta imitation. “Hi, I’m Detective Right-All-The-Time, and this is my partner—”

“—Detective Terrible Detective!” Stiles finished. Stiles burst into laughter, Derek joining him. “ _Noice!_ Oh my god, I try to talk to my best friend Scott about it all the time, but he’s into _Grey’s Anatomy_.”

“ _Grey’s Anatomy?”_ Derek exclaimed with mock horror.

Stiles groaned. “Ugh. Don’t even get me started. He’s hopeless.”

They continued their path around the ice, chatting to themselves. They didn’t talk about anything important, really. A little about Derek’s huge family, how he and his sisters caused their own brand of trouble when they were younger, how Stiles had Scott and the troubles they had caused themselves. But the way Derek talked about his family—the way he so obviously cared about them—made Stiles’ heart warm like it was wrapped in a heated blanket. He’d always wanted a big family himself, and although they were slightly overwhelming, it was obvious that Derek loved his fiercely.

Suffice to say, by the time the ice was cleared and Derek helped Stiles wrangle the tools back to the ticket booth, Stiles was completely gone on him. He tried to keep his heart-eyes under control, but he knew he was failing. Miserably.

“Well, uh,” Stiles managed, rubbing his gloved hand on the back of his neck, “thanks so much for the help.”

Derek smiled an adorable half-smile that showed off one of his dimples. “Yeah, no worries.” Derek shuffled his feet for a moment or two, looking down at his feet. Stiles thought he was adorable, and he wondered if he should try asking Derek out for hot chocolate or something. Then he heard Derek take a deep breath and a small step toward Stiles. Stiles felt his heart flutter with anticipation. “Hey, I was just wondering—”

A loud crash interrupted Derek (Stiles wanted to scream obscenities at the sky), and both of them turned quickly to find the boys standing around two metal trash cans that were toppled over, paper cups strewn everywhere and rolling around on the ground around them. All of the kids looked immediately toward Derek, shock on their faces for a moment, before all pointing at each other, shouting a chorus of _He did it!_. Derek sighed and looked back at Stiles apologetically. “Sorry, I gotta...”

Stiles reached for the broom, but Derek grabbed it before he could. “No. _They’ll_ take care of this.”

Derek quickly made his way over to the kids and the messy pile, handing the broom over and gesturing to the other two. The boys seemed stunned and embarrassed enough to act quickly, picking up the mess. Stiles moved back to his ticket booth, not wanting to disturb. It looked like everyone was okay, and there wasn’t any blood— _yet._ It wasn’t anything too dangerous, just a mess, and it looked like Derek had a handle on it.

What sucked is that their moment was interrupted. Damn kids-that-weren’t-Derek’s (thank god).

Stiles settled himself back in the ticket booth, a few families and couples buying tickets. He couldn’t keep the goofy smile off of his face when he remembered skating around the ice with Derek, and he wondered if he would get a chance to talk with him again before they left.

“You two are ador-r-r-able!” Erica said in a singsong at him, a mischievous smile on her face.

“Shut uuuuup!” Stiles singsonged back at her, failing miserably at keeping his smile in check. Erica cackled with glee.

Stiles stole a glance at the ice again, the kids back on the ice, but more subdued now. Derek was nowhere in sight. Stiles leaned over the counter to try to find him, when a tall brunette stood in front of him, her arms crossed.

Stiles sat back in his seat. “Can I help you?”

“You’re the guy.”

Stiles blinked in confusion. “I’m the guy?”

“Yep. The guy that has my brother so rattled that he made me come out here to get my kids early.” She was tapping her fingers on her elbows with a furious expression, and it took a moment for Stiles to realize what she was saying. “Just _wait_ ,” she continued, “until Peter hears about _this.”_

 _Oh no._ Stiles had to try to fix this. He couldn’t lose this job, it was too late to find another one, and books for this last semester were going to take every penny he was making. “Look,” he rushed to explain, “nothing happened, alright? I-I-Your brother was really nice and we just talked? And I didn’t forget to do my job, even though the sight of his face made me want to forget everything terrible in the world…” ( _Holy god, someone stop him)_ “...but he helped me clean the ice and then the kids picked up the mess and I swear I didn’t do anything, please don’t get me fired.”

Stiles managed to stop the verbal vomit, but his mortification was complete. He dropped his head into his crossed arms on the counter, and waited for the earth to swallow him whole.

“Derek!” he heard her yell. “Come over here.”

Stiles groaned into his arms, and buried his face further into his elbows.

“What is it, Laura?” Stiles could hear Derek only a few inches away, and he wished he could disappear.

“This guy, Derek?” There was a long pause, in which Stiles tried to close his ears, not wanting to hear his judgement. But there was a pause, and then Laura’s voice changed from harsh and angry to amused and light in a heartbeat. “I like him.”

Stiles’ head shot up like a rocket. _Did he hear that right?_ The smirk on Laura’s face at Stiles’ undoubtedly dumbstruck expression told him he had. “I like him a lot.” She pointed her finger into Derek’s chest. “Don’t fuck this up. I’m taking the kids the rest of the night, but you?” She looked at Derek, and then at Stiles, who gulped. “You _both_ owe me.”

Laura winked at Stiles, then turned on her heel and disappeared. The kids passed the booth behind her, and only one of them made kissy noises at Derek, who immediately pulled the hat down over the boy’s face and shoved him playfully after his mom.

Derek turned back to Stiles, his head ducked down and a shy smile barely visible. Stiles wanted to kiss him senseless.

“So…that was my big sister Laura.”

Stiles smiled. “She’s...great.”

Derek looked into Stiles’ eyes, and Stiles was struck, yet again, by their amazing color. “She’s a mouse compared to Cora.”

“Well, that’s a great advertisement.”

Derek barked out a laugh. “Did she scare you enough that you’d say no if I asked you out?”

“Umm...my dad’s the county Sheriff. It takes a lot more than an overprotective sister to scare me off.”

Derek looked relieved. “Umm, can I take you out for dinner after work tonight?”

“Go right now!” Erica’s voice called out from her hot chocolate booth, startling the both of them into turning around. “I’ve got it covered here!” She winked at the two of them, waving her long red fingernails at them.

Derek turned back to Stiles, his eyebrow raised. “Friend of yours?”

Stiles kept his face impassive. “Never met her before in my life.” Then he smirked. “Hopefully my boss won’t find out if I skip out early tonight.”

“I won’t tell him, if you won’t.”

“It’s a deal.”

 

********

Derek dropped Stiles off at home at 7am, after they sat in the booth talking at Denny’s through dinner... _and_ breakfast. Then he made coffee and proofread Stiles’ paper.

Stiles _tried_ not to say “I love you” after one night.  


********

Two weeks later, laser beams were streaming past a corner where Derek and Stiles were both crouched low, guns in hand. Their vests were both illuminated—for the moment.

“They’re wiping the floor with us,” Derek muttered.

“ _How_ are they so good?” Stiles exclaimed back. “It’s terrifying!”

“Have you gotten a single hit?”

“No,” Stiles said, the frustration barely contained in his voice. “Have _you?”_

“Are you kidding? I can’t even see them in here!”

Suddenly, the lights from Derek’s vest went out, and he groaned as a young voice whooped from their right.

“Gotcha again, Uncle Derek!” Connor, Cora’s oldest, shouted.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles yelled, and made an attempt to get up, but then his own vest went dark, and he swore under his breath and slumped back next to Derek.

“Got you too, Stiles! Man, you guys really suck at this.” The younger kid, Laura’s son Mason, streaked off from their left in the opposite direction, cackling as he went.

“Listen, you little punk…” Stiles tried to get up yet again, but this time he was held back by two strong arms around his waist.

“Let them go,” Derek said in his ear.

“They’re totally gonna pay for that,” Stiles yelled, but his voice trailed off as he felt Derek’s scruff tease the skin under his ear. “Oh, hi there.” He snuggled back against the warmth of Derek’s body, angling his head to get closer to the contact. He could write sonnets about Derek’s scruff on his skin.

He felt Derek’s smile. “Dark space, kids trying to avoid us? Felt like we should take advantage of this opportunity.”

Stiles turned toward Derek’s voice. It was so dark in the room, the the strobe lights barely outlining Derek’s face, his eyes and teeth strangely alight from the blacklight. “Oh, I’m _so_ on board with this idea.”

Their lips pressed together gently, and Stiles couldn’t help his smile into Derek’s lips. God, he could do this forever. Stiles’ hands threaded through the hair on the back of Derek’s head, and he held them together as their mouths explored each other. The little sighs that Derek made (one of the many things that Stiles had come to love) were being drowned out by the music in the room, but he could still feel them under his tongue, and they made his heart pound like a bass drum. Even though he and Derek had only been seeing each other for a couple of weeks, it seemed to him that they fit together like a puzzle, and it was never more obvious than when they were like this, wrapped around each other and closing the space between them until none existed.

The next time they were tagged—by Flynn this time—the two of them were so wrapped up in each other, they didn’t even notice.  


************

  
(They got kicked out for making out in the laser tag course, but it was _so_ worth it.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find Derek’s hat [here.](https://www.tipsyelves.com/funny-ski-hats)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I'd love any comments you have.
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/im2old4thisotp)and [Tumblr.](http://im2old4thisotp.tumblr.com)


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